


A Toast to Now

by Lifeinahole



Category: Once Upon a Time (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Neighbors, F/M, Fluff, Older Man/Younger Woman, Smut
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-01-11
Updated: 2019-01-11
Packaged: 2019-10-08 10:04:42
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 13,023
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17384441
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Lifeinahole/pseuds/Lifeinahole
Summary: His neighbors may be brightening their own holidays, but they’re ruining the constant melancholy of his life. He’s determined to keep to himself until the single mother that lives next door to him drops literally through his door two nights before Christmas. It’s the moment that may be temporary, like everything else, but it may just change everything.





	A Toast to Now

**Author's Note:**

  * For [effulgentcolors](https://archiveofourown.org/users/effulgentcolors/gifts).



> Written for the beautiful effulgentcolors for the captain swan secret santa on Tumblr for 2018. I am so pleased with the whole of this fic. It ended up much longer than I anticipated it would be, but that's not exactly a bad thing. The Killian in this fic is aged higher than Emma. She's still a fully grown adult, and age is really just a number, but if you don't like that, don't read it. That's why I tagged it as such. Otherwise, I hope you all enjoy this adventure!

Killian has found that, on the rare occasion something bright happens in his life, it is only temporary. His love affair with Milah all those years ago: temporary. The feelings of being safe and loved with his brother before his death: temporary. His looks: Well… to be fair, they’re still there. Just a little clouded by the long hair that’s just starting to brush the collars of his shirts and a bit of unruly facial hair that he’s let grow. He’s, admittedly, a little softer around the middle than he ever was in his youth, but at 45, he really doesn’t give a damn about that. He managed to avoid the large beer gut he thought he’d have at this point of time, thankfully. But working in a bar has helped him see what he wants to avoid becoming.

Those are and were the bright things, though. He has an apartment he hasn’t abandoned in several years – coming close on a decade, now that he thinks about it. And two jobs that he’s kept for roughly half that amount of time. He has some friends, occasionally…

So maybe it’s not _all_ temporary, but most of it has been in his life. Love has been rare. Kindness has been fleeting. His friends have all found comfort in their lives and left him to his own devices when he didn’t keep up with their milestones. He spends most of his time alone, now. The aforementioned lack of family has left him more of a sad curmudgeon than a full-on Scrooge, only shuffling from the place he calls home to work a few shifts at the bar he’s partial owner of, serving drinks to men and women who share the same lost expression he wears on most days.

What Killian _hopes_ is temporary is the music filtering through the walls and down the hallway and filling every quiet corner of his quaint living space. Where normally the muted grays soak and reflect the melancholy he spends most of his time in, the Christmas music from next door feels like it is a light trying its best to seek out every dark spot and eliminate it. Normally, these particular neighbors are at least a little more quiet and reserved, but that rule doesn’t apply to Christmas.

He knows few things about his neighbors who moved in three years ago: The woman is a single mother to one Henry Swan, her first initial is E., and she is… so breathtakingly beautiful he lacks the proper words to express it. He knows that, beyond her beauty, she is kind. She can be prickly when her judgement and standards are questioned, and she is fiercely protective of her son. She will absolutely not take shit from the father of said boy, but that doesn’t seem to be a problem that comes up as often as when they first moved in.

Killian has struggled to speak to her at their side-by-side mailboxes so many times that she must think him an inexcusably rude jackass, but he tries for friendliness, even if it comes off as blunt brusqueness.

Henry, on the other hand, he’s spoken to often and freely when they run into each other in the hallways. He is the warmth in the dead of winter, as far as Killian can tell, and young Henry is the reason the normally quiet space next to his is causing just a bit of a headache for Killian tonight. It’s their tree decorating party: a yearly tradition as far as he can tell, and he’ll look forward to spying the silhouette of it in the next coming days when silence reigns once more.

On the nights he comes home early enough, he can just make out the brightly lit and glittering decorations that adorn the artificial branches – a mixture of store bought baubles and ones Henry makes every year in school. Last year, Henry made an ornament for Killian, sliding it beneath his door on Christmas Eve before heading to his father’s place. Killian did not have a tree, but he hung it on the wall by the door, tacked up as his one beacon of a decoration.

As the sounds of laughter and Christmas music continue in the Swan apartment, Killian goes to the small table by his entrance and pulls out that same glittery star. He smiles as he hangs it in the same spot as last year, finding his part in their decoration party. Maybe it’s time to get a small tree – just one or two feet tall – just for this star, really.

The night before Christmas Eve, he’s spending his night off reading a biography he’s been meaning to pick up when he hears a thump against his door. With a frown, he marks his spot and sets the book aside so he can investigate. Out the viewer in the door, he can’t see anything, but his door suddenly shakes again with a thump, and Killian jumps away from the door in alarm. He can see something is blocking the light from beneath the door, at least partially, so he wonders what he’ll find when he opens the damn thing.

With a few good, deep breaths, he carefully disengages the deadbolt and prepares himself before wrenching the door open quickly.

There’s a sound of surprise, from him and the person that _had_ been leaning there, and then he’s looking down at one E. Swan sprawled across the threshold to his apartment. There are tracks from tears down her cheeks and her eyes are open wide in surprise, but there’s something clouding her expression, which isn’t hard to pick out the source when she tries to get back up off the floor. She’s completely wasted.

“Sorry – thought… thought I was against a wall,” she says, but the words are slurred, and she’s having trouble getting steady. “Lost my keys, can’t get… can’t get in…” She trails off again, as she makes it to her feet, her face scrunching up again as fresh tears start and the words that come out next are some approximation of “I can’t get in my apartment” but Killian only knows this because he had assumed her meaning before the sobbing started. She tips forward and falls against him, her forehead resting against his chest.

“Swan, come in. Come inside. I’ll call the landlord.”

She can’t speak, not with how hard she’s still crying, so she just nods and holds out her hand to let him lead her in. With her current state, Killian begins to worry that something’s happened to Henry, and he tries to push down the lump of dread in his throat as he guides her to the couch and sits her down. He goes to grab the box of tissues he keeps in the bathroom.

“I’m sorry,” she mumbles, her voice wobbly and thick. “I’m not usually this….” She gestures, to include her entire state of being as she accepts the tissues and starts to clean herself up. Killian detours to the kitchen real quick and grabs a glass of water for her, placing it on the coffee table in front of her and settling a respectable distance away on the couch.

“Is Henry okay?”

Her eyes widen for a second, and she looks up quickly. “Oh gosh, yeah. Yes. He’s fine. I’m sorry. I forgot you actually know… Sorry. Yeah.”

They’re both quiet for a few minutes while she sips the water and blots her nose. There’s a small pile of tissues piling on his coffee table, and she catches him looking at them, her lips twisting as she tries to gather them. “Where’s the trash can? I’m so sorry – barging in here and making a mess and I don’t even know your first fucking name…”

“Killian,” he tells her, stilling her hands and gently urging her to drop the tissues again. “It’s all right, love. We’ll take care of them in a bit. I’m going to call Marco and see if he has your spare, okay?”

“Thanks, Killian,” she says, her smile still a little uneven, but she already seems to be clearing from the worst of the drink. He’s found that crying can have that effect sometimes, so he’s happy to see her eyes clearer though they’re red and a little puffy. “I’m Emma, by the way,” she tells him as he stands to get his phone from where it’s charging.

“Lovely to finally meet you, Emma.” The smile he gives her is shy and he turns away quickly to go complete his task. And it is lovely, even if these are the circumstances that led to it.

Marco answers, even at midnight. But as Killian explains the situation, Marco informs him he can’t drive at night, and tells him he won’t be able to deliver the spare until morning. With a quiet sigh to himself, he ends the call and turns back to Emma, who has somehow managed to sneak off to his kitchen to ditch the used tissues and return herself to the couch to peer around his living room with alert eyes.

“He can’t bring it tonight,” Killian tells her as he returns to the couch. “I can drive you to a hotel or to stay with someone, if you’d prefer, but you’re welcome to stay here the night.” The last part of the sentence is out of his mouth before he’s really thought it through, but the offer is out there so he can’t take it back.

She cocks her head to the side to consider him, as if looking for some hint of untruth to his words, but only ends up nodding.

“Well, my brother and sister-in-law are out of town already, and my spare to their place is on my keyring, so there goes that. And I’d rather be here in the morning for Marco.” She bounces experimentally on the couch a few times, testing the feel of it, and Killian can’t help but smile. “This thing is _nice._ ”

“You _are_ welcome to the bed instead, if you’d prefer,” he offers, but she’s already shaking her head. “Then let’s get you set up with some bedding and pajamas, aye?”

“You are not at all who I thought you were,” Emma lets slip when she takes the blankets that Killian hands her from the linen closet.

“Oh really? Who did you think I was?”

“That quiet, kinda creepy old guy that lived down the hall,” Emma responds, and it’s clear that the dredges of the spirit are left behind, because she goes still with her eyes open wide, just like she _wasn’t_ supposed to say that. “I mean. Like I said, you’re _not_ that guy. But…”

Killian gives her an expectant look, his eyebrow raised, until he can’t hold the pose any longer and starts chuckling. “Sorry to have caused you such impressions for this long, Swan. It’s just my demeanor. And in my elderly age…”

“Shut up!”

They’re both chuckling as she swats at him with the blankets, before moving back down the hallway to start spreading the sheet over the couch. Killian makes sure to find the softest pillow in his bunch to lend to her.

“Thanks again,” Emma says after they’ve set up the couch as a suitable bed for the night and she’s changed into the clothes he lent her.

“Not a problem. I’m sorry your night has gone so poorly, by the way.”

“It gave me a chance to meet you,” Emma says, but her smile is interrupted by a large yawn.

“Aye, same for me. Get some rest, Emma. I’ll see you in the morning?”

She nods at him, her eyes already drifting closed as she settles against the pillow and pulls the blankets up to her chin. She’s asleep in a matter of moments, and Killian switches off all the lights on the way to his room. Tomorrow, maybe he can learn more.

But in the morning, he discovers that Emma Swan’s appearance in his life is just another temporary thing, and he tries not to let the disappointment consume him.

-x-

Emma wakes in the morning to her phone ringing, a headache, and the reminder that she did not get to spend the night in her own apartment. With groggy morning brain, she rolls from the couch, trying to locate her phone and finding it plugged into a charger that’s definitely not hers, nor did she plug it in. Killian Jones, it seems, is one of the most considerate people she’s ever met, and she’s now madder than ever that she was so drunk last night and couldn’t even enjoy their meeting to the fullest extent.

The third ring of her phone has her scrambling for it, and she greets Marco as cheerfully and as quietly as she can. She already interrupted Killian’s night; she doesn’t want to interrupt his sleep, as well. She agrees to meet the landlord at the door and hangs up, quietly gathering her clothes and phone and bag and creeping out the door. She hopes she can get into her apartment and change before her neighbor wakes up, intent on sneaking back in after she’s had a chance to change and make some coffee for the both of them. It’s the least she can do.

As soon as Marco unlocks the door, Emma thanks him and hurries in, throwing items where they need to go while rushing for the coffee maker. While it heats up and brews, she changes into her own clothes, folding Killian’s carefully and putting them off to the side to return to him.

After she’s washed up – teeth brushed, hair untangled and braided, face quickly washed free of any makeup she still had left – she heads back to her kitchen. It takes her a second to realize she’s looking straight at her keys on her counter, not so lost after all, and she groans as she stuffs them in the pocket not occupied by her phone before she pours a couple mugs of coffee and secures lids on each of them.

Maybe she just won’t tell him that they were here all along, or maybe he’ll find the humor in it like she eventually will. But eventually, because it’s certainly not so funny right this moment. Slipping on a pair of flats to walk down the hall, Emma checks her appearance in a small mirror by the entrance and balances the mugs to open and shut the door behind her.

She’s always wondered what her next door neighbor was like. Henry was always going on and on about what a cool guy Mr. Jones was, and he was one of three people in the whole complex she was comfortable with her son talking to, just because of word of mouth. She knew he was quiet and kept to himself, but in the years he has lived here beyond their length of renting, he’s known to everyone as a gentle presence. She doesn’t even know how old he is, but he’s definitely not the _old_ man everyone claimed “Jones” to be.

A puzzle to be put together with more than rumors, if she has anything to say about it.

He seems surprised as hell when she shows up just a half hour later with two travel mugs, fresh clothes, and a smile. The somewhat sour expression he had on his face when he opened the door slowly morphed into pleasant wonder, and he opens the door further when she asks if she can come in.

“I take it you got your extra key?” His voice is rough, and she finds she likes the sound of it more than she should.

“Marco let me in a bit ago. I uh, I don’t cook or else I would’ve made breakfast. Just wanted to do something small to say thanks again for last night.”

“Never a problem, Swan. If you ever need anything, you only need to ask.”

“Well, how about helping me share a pizza tonight for dinner.”

“Pardon?”

“Henry doesn’t come back until late tonight, and I actually hate being alone during the holidays. I spent enough years on my own,” she says before she can stop herself from saying it. The look in Killian’s eyes, however, holds no further question or judgement. He, too, looks like someone who has spent quite a few holidays alone. “Anyway, I thought maybe we could get to actually know each other, seeing as we’ve been neighbors for so long and I just finally learned your name.”

He hesitates in answering, and it’s during his pause that her eyes land on the star on the wall, Henry’s rough penmanship written across the front in marker. She has a matching one on the tree. She didn’t realize she made one for Killian, too. She reaches out to run her finger along the edge, a smile on her face as she does, before she turns back to Killian. His brows are furrowed, the emotion in his eyes one she can’t quite place, but there’s a softness there she didn’t expect.

“I suppose pizza would be a good way to spend the evening,” he says after another moment.

With a brilliant smile, she gives him a time to be at her place, telling him to return the mug when he comes by before she ducks back out of the apartment.

Once back in her own place, she looks around at the chaotic mess she and Henry live in, and she cringes. Now she just needs to make it look like a tornado hasn’t blown through recently and she’ll be ready to have him over.

The day moves so slowly after the tidying takes way less time than she thought it would. Henry has a pile of mess to clean off his bed when he gets back tonight, but maybe he should’ve listened when she told him to clean up his stuff before he left for his dad’s place. She even cleaned the bathroom, just in case. When she calls the pizza place, she makes sure she’s the last one on their delivery list for their early hours, and promises a hefty tip to the kid before she hangs up.

Killian arrives only three minutes after the pizza does, and he holds up a six pack in greeting.

“Wasn’t sure if you liked beer, or what kind?”

“I do, and it’s just my kind,” she says as she takes the offering and ushers him in. When she sets it down on the counter, he also holds up the left hand – today it’s a hook, but she’s seen the artificial hand, as well – and releases the handle of her travel mug when she grabs it. “Thanks,” she says, giving him another smile. She makes a mental note to tell him about his borrowed clothes on the entryway table later on, but for now she rummages through her gadget drawer for a bottle opener before lifting it victoriously.

Over the course of two beers and three pieces each (she’s not ashamed, she works hard at the gym for her abs and deserves her carbs when she wants them), she finds out more about Killian than she anticipated. Some of it, the standard information like his time in Storybrooke and his jobs, she was already partially aware of thanks to Henry and town gossip. The other stuff, it doesn’t look like he even means to tell her. But there’s the story of how he lost his hand, and why he ended up here. She finds out about his brother passing away, and his ultimate heartbreak when his almost-wife died tragically.

She only feels right, then, sharing as much as she can with him in return. Her foster home upbringing gets aired out quickly, along with her relationship with her adopted brother and his sickeningly cute marriage to Snow White (they call her Snow anyway, so technically, it’s not an exaggeration). She talks about her decision to get her GED while she worked bail bonds, and how that led to her going to the police academy and coming back to Storybrooke to take a position as deputy.

“I was here from the moment Ruth adopted me at thirteen until the moment I ran away with Neal my senior year of high school,” she tells him as she’s nursing the end of beer number two. He doesn’t seem in any rush to reach for the third, either, so she sets it off to the side. “Do you want hot chocolate? Coffee? I don’t know if you noticed but our windows are extremely drafty in this apartment and I need something to warm me up.”

He chuckles when she says it, shifting to help gather some of his own trash as Emma’s doing the same. “I offered to weatherproof my own after my first winter here. I can ask Marco if I can do the same for yours, if you’d like. He used to have his son to do the maintenance around here until August went off to be a writer in New York.”

“Hey, I’m certainly not gonna say no to that offer. So? What’ll it be?”

Killian fiddles with the bottle in his hand for a minute before he shrugs and nods. “I’ll have whatever you’re having. When’s your boy due home?”

“Well, according to the custody agreement, he should be home at ten. It was earlier when he was younger, but since he stopped believing in Santa, we’ve been able to play with the times a little.”

“He’s only just turned twelve, hasn’t he?”

“Yep.” She knows he’s doing the math, or at least trying to, and she’s getting ready to cringe as his brows furrow and he looks at her. The kettle whistles, saving her from a conversation she doesn’t want to have just yet, a conversation that she’s only had twice in her life – once with Henry when he asked two years ago and once with David when she showed up back on his doorstep, three months pregnant and crying.

With care, she mixes the hot chocolate in each mug and tops them with her signature whipped cream and cinnamon. “I usually make the good stuff with milk or cream, but I’m out of both and won’t be able to shop until the day after tomorrow,” she explains, not really needing to but wanting to anyways.

“Don’t usually make it, meself. So this is all new to me,” he tells her as he takes the handle of his mug and follows her back to the couch. It’s still early, with two more hours until Henry will be flying through that door.

“Well, come back over when I have all my usual ingredients. I may not cook much but I make a damn good hot chocolate.”

He stops and stares at her, and Emma tilts her head to the side in question. “What is it?”

“You want me to come back for more than just weatherproofing?”

It’s something about the tone of his words that takes her a moment to form her response. “Well, of _course_ I do. I wouldn’t have offered pizza in the first place if I didn’t want you to come over. And I don’t know about you but I’ve been having a great time tonight.”

“I have too, Swan. Thank you. I’m sure it’s obvious, but I don’t spend much time socializing outside my apartment. It’s quite nice to have a… friend?”

“Same here,” Emma says, smiling and resisting reaching out and touching him. Because suddenly, she wants to touch his hand. Worse, she wants to kiss him. It’s going to take some time for her to unpack that thought, though.

He stays almost until the time Henry comes home. And while she told him he was welcome to stay and say hello, he still helped her clean up and said he’d catch Henry again soon. His goodnight and wishes for a happy Christmas were given quietly, their proximity in the doorway closer than she intended to be to him but unable to move away. She manages to keep her hands to herself as she repeats the words back to him, closing the door and leaning against it until she hears his door close further down the hallway.

“Crap,” Emma mutters to herself. She wanted to _meet_ her neighbor, not _fall_ for him.

-x-

Killian figures he’ll wait a few days and then offer to help Emma with the weatherproofing he said he would complete for her. He figures he won’t hear from her, and that he’ll just try his best to see when their schedules line up, and that’ll be that. What he does _not_ expect is the knock on his door just past breakfast time on Christmas morning. Looking out the spy hole on his door reveals not only Emma, but Henry as well. Both of them have their hands behind their backs, and their expressions border on mischief. He runs a hand through his hair once, trying to tame it back, then opens the door for them.

“Merry Christmas!” they say in unison. They sound far too cheery for the early hour, but he can’t help but smile at the both of them and give them greetings as well.

“Why do you both look as if you’re up to something?”

“Because we are,” Henry says immediately, his smile large and toothy and almost childlike in its appearance.

“May we come in?” Emma asks, her smile smaller but no less playful.

He narrows his eyes, sizing them both up, but they stand their ground until he steps back and opens the door wider. What happens next can only be described as a Christmas ambush. They each had multiple bags behind their backs, laden and damn near bursting at the seams with all that was inside them.

“So I let slip that you have your ornament hanging on the wall,” Emma explains as she sets her bag down and Henry starts pulling out item after item, as if the bag was a clown car rather than a reusable shopping bag. “And that you don’t have a tree, or any decorations. I tried to stop him?” She says it with a shrug, and an adorable twist of his lips, and Killian still can’t believe they’re even here, and apparently setting to work giving him a Christmas miracle, by the looks of it.

“Where the blazes did you get all this?” It’s not _quite_ the first thing he was going to say, but neither of them slow even for a heartbeat in their process.

“So when we moved from Boston, we finally had enough space for a bigger tree, and we wanted bigger ornaments with more meaning, so we started collecting them and Henry started making his own. These have been in storage until, well, this morning.”

“Mom told me you don’t have anything up in here. I like my ornament on the wall, but I think it would look much better on this tree,” Henry finally pipes up, and Killian looks over to see that he’s placed a small tree on one of his empty end tables. He’s even managed to find an outlet for it, and it twinkles merrily with its pre-lit multi-color lights. The boy is looking at him, and while he was brazen when he walked in and started unpacking, there’s an edge of uncertainty in his eyes at the moment.

With care, Killian closes his mouth and wanders over to where Henry is starting to fidget by the bag of decorations. Killian stoops to rummage through the bag for a moment and procure a package of tiny baubles that are the perfect size for the miniature tree. He tilts the box back and forth to see the way the glitter catches the lights.

“Tell me, lad. Did you pick these out?”

“Mom and I did together,” Henry responds, his eyes darting over to Emma and the smile coming unbidden to his face before he looks back at Killian. He’s going to start growing like a weed soon, Killian can tell just by looking at him, and he starts to grin with that thought. He pictures Emma and Henry picking out small ornaments for their small tree as a small family, and the image in his mind is sweet and filled with hope and love, and he can feel the life spreading through his body.

“I love them,” he tells Henry plainly. “But I want your ornament to be the first one on this tree.”

If he thought the boy was smiling before, then he’s downright beaming after Killian says that. He runs over to where the star is hanging on the wall and carefully pulls it down, hastening back to Killian’s side to hand the star over. Killian handles it just as gently, affixing the string to one of the upper branches so the star falls in the very middle.

It’s perfect.

“Yeah, it is,” Emma says, suddenly standing much closer than she was before. He wasn’t aware he said it out loud, but he’s glad he did because it’s true. With the first one done, the three of them get to work decorating his new tree, filling it with more ornaments than it should realistically fit. There’s even a tiny strand of garland that they wrap around it, and a red and white skirt which wraps around the base and ties the whole picture together nicely.

But the bags are nowhere near empty.

“Bloody hell, have you brought the whole store with you, then?”

“Yep,” Emma says, the ‘p’ popping at the end as she smirks at him.

With every item that comes out of the bags, she gives the story: It’s something she picked up ages ago but never put out, it’s something she _wants_ to put out but doesn’t have the right space, it’s something she got from a secret Santa when she first moved to Storybrooke, it’s something she bought for David and never gave to him…

By the time they’re done, not only is there a resplendent little tree on one of his end tables, but they’ve strung lights around the window in his living room and placed holiday themed items around the room. There’s a candle that smells like cinnamon burning on his coffee table, and a wreath made of grapevines with sprays of berries and pine trimmings. All fake, of course, but the whole thing looks rustic and fits perfectly in his opinion. There’s also a very light throw with a buffalo check pattern in red and black that comes out last, and Emma carefully drapes it over the back of his couch.

“That’s one of my throws. But once I pictured it in this area, I couldn’t leave it alone.”

He can hardly believe his eyes, or that this transformation has taken place in his own living space. There’s so much more color and vibrancy to the room, and he wonders how he ever did without any of it – which goes far beyond the decorations. Emma and Henry fit here, too. Their laughter fills in all the cracks and warms his heart in ways he didn’t know he was missing. At lunch time, Henry’s stomach growls so loudly that Emma apologizes for him while chuckling.

“Would you like to join us for grilled cheese and soup?” she asks him when she finally controls herself. There’s no possible way he could turn that down.

They include him in their whole day, and Killian can’t say he minds one bit. It’s clear they had their morning together and breakfast, but lunch and dinner and every space between they spend with Killian. They bounce back and forth between apartments, as well, spending lunch at theirs and dinner at his. He only had a few chicken breasts he planned on baking and saving for dinner all week, but with their kitchen contents combined, they make a recipe Emma calls “Chicken Supreme” and they settle along his breakfast bar to eat, with Henry sitting on the counter because he only has two stools.

While Emma and Killian clean up the kitchen, Henry takes command of the remote and finds a marathon of Christmas movies. It gives him time with Emma, not that he doesn’t want Henry there, but just a moment to express his gratitude for the whole day.

“Swan, I wanted to thank you for today,” he says as she finishes packing away the leftovers and hands him the container to put into the fridge.

“It was our pleasure,” she responds, tossing a smile and a look he’s unsure of over her shoulder as she does. She goes right back to cleaning up, setting the pan in the sink to soak a bit before Killian ushers her away to finish loading the dishwasher. With the cycle started on that, they join Henry in the living room.

He’s taken up occupancy of his armchair, which means Killian and Emma are together on the couch. They sit a respectable distance apart, but as the evening draws on and they get more comfortable, he’s shocked to feel her pinky finger touching his on the cushion between them. It could be an accidental touch, so he holds perfectly still, trying to stay as natural as possible while his heart damn well beats out of his chest over the slightest bit of contact. Ah, how the suave have fallen.

It’s no accident, however, when her finger nudges his, and he looks down at their hands and up at Emma’s eyes. There’s a question there, a nervous gesture when she wets her lips and presses them together. And oh, how he wants to kiss her right now. But instead, he extends his pinky and wraps it around hers. Her eyelashes flutter a few times before she smiles, and the space between them naturally thins as the movie rolls onward. Before the credits, their hands are clasped palm to palm with their fingers linked together, and Killian is struggling to remember a time when something so small meant so much to him.

With the late hour and the long day, Henry has long since fallen asleep in the armchair. Really, for him, the extra time was a wonderful excuse for him to hold Emma’s hand a little longer. Even she seems a little reluctant when it becomes obvious that her eyes are growing heavy, as well.

“Thanks for everything today,” she says quietly. The television has been switched off and so they sit in the dim lighting of the tree, Henry’s even breathing the only sound besides their words.

“I could say the same,” he murmurs. Again, he wants nothing more than to kiss her, but it’s been two days; something tells him that they both need more time for this to develop properly. So instead, he kisses the back of Emma’s hand and rises from the couch first. He helps her to her feet, relishing the moment she sways into his space. It’s not really an embrace, but it’s something close to one. He ghosts his lips across her hair and swears to himself that he’ll do everything in his power to do this right.

After they rouse Henry, he sees them off, wishing them one last happy tiding and a good night, as well. Back in his own apartment, he’s surprised it doesn’t feel as empty as he expected it to with the two of them gone. The glow from the tree helps, as does the evidence of their presence in almost every space he’s used to seeing barren.

-x-

Slow progress is good progress, according to Emma. Her heart had stuttered and then beat twice as hard when Killian’s finger linked with her own on Christmas. On New Year’s Eve, right as the ball drops, they kiss. It’s a mutual agreement as they watch the countdown on television. Henry’s not there, so it’s just the two of them on her couch with a bottle of champagne. They’re even both in their pajamas. It would be so easy to invite him to her bed, strip off those flannel pants, but she wants this to stay at the pace it’s going.

So they kiss – a couple sweet and simple touches of their lips that taste like champagne and chocolates from where she was snacking earlier. Shortly after that, he rises from her couch and wishes her goodnight with another kiss, and she walks him to the door as if it’s not been forever since she kissed someone and she doesn’t want to stop.

On Valentine’s Day, a bouquet of flowers shows up at the station with her name on them. They aren’t red, they aren’t roses, and they’re signed simply with “Thinking of You – K. Jones” and she almost cries. She leaves the arrangement in her car as she stops at the bar after her shift, not really caring about the few patrons scattered around the quiet little establishment as she heads straight for the man behind the worn wood. She pulls him over the divider just enough to kiss him hard, his hand barely having time to caress her cheek before she’s pulling away again. She has to go pick up Henry from David and Snow’s house still, and they have dinner being delivered in an hour, but she needed to do this in person today.

“Thanks for the flowers, Jones. See you tomorrow?”

He nods, his eyes still transfixed on her lips as she speaks, and she’s tempted to kiss him again but she won’t leave if she does. Instead, she releases her hold on his shirt and sends him a wink as she gets closer to the door. The whole bar is turned to stare at her, all with the same dumbstruck look on their faces as Killian has as he raises his hand in farewell and a smile blooms across his whole face.

On St. Patrick’s Day, neither of them make any moves at all. In fact, they hadn’t really planned on seeing each other because of the nature of both of their jobs. While Storybrooke isn’t a big party town by any means imaginable, Killian still works at a bar, and Emma still works as a deputy, which means they’ve both been wrangling drunks all night.

Thanks to David and Snow, Henry is spending the night at their house tonight. He got back sometime this evening but knowing the holiday, Neal took him straight out to her brother’s place. He’s a piece of work, but he doesn’t fight the dumb shit anymore – not that he ever should have since he all but ran when she told him she was pregnant – but he pays her a hefty amount of child support and made up monetarily for the years he missed in the beginning. As long as he doesn’t fight her on custody or try to poison Henry’s mind against her, she really doesn’t give a damn about him.

That’s a whole different story, though, and one that’s not important to Emma as she all but crashes into Killian in the stairwell that leads to the apartments. Wordlessly, and looking just as exhausted as she feels, he invites her in to his place since it’s closer.

They barely make it into pajamas before falling into his bed, which is how Emma wakes up after having slept with Killian for the first time. And not even the really fun kind, but the necessary kind. He’s still asleep but stirring awake when she opens her eyes, so she gets to see the way his eyelashes flutter and how he turns and stretches his whole body upon waking.

His hair is an absolute riot on top of his head, the dark brown and hints of gray going in every direction. She has never, in all her life, been attracted to a man so much older than her. Sure, something can be said about how she’s always gone for men older than she is, but this is definitely a different playing field. But Killian doesn’t really act like there’s an age gap between them, so she chooses to see past it as well.

Right now, he looks so much younger than the day they met. His hair is trimmed short now, as it has been since right after the Christmas. He showed up at the station with coffee for her one morning with his hair cut and styled like she imagines he may have worn it once. The unruly beard he’d sported before was suddenly shorter, bordering on the growth from not shaving for a few days, but neater.

She can’t get over the way he looks so similar to before but different, all dark brown hair with gray wings spread along his temples and up over his forehead. The same silver is just starting to pepper into his eyebrows and beard, and she idly wonders how long it’ll take for him to go fully gray. She’s really never entertained the idea of sleeping with a silver fox before, but looking at the way Killian pops his empty wrist beneath his head and rubs his hand over his face before running it through his hair, she has to admit that her thoughts are getting less pure by the minute.

Especially when Killian catches her staring, his eyebrow raising as his lips twitch up knowingly. “Good morning, love,” comes his husky whisper.

“Morning,” she responds, just as quietly and her voice just a bit breathless. “Sleep well?”

“Aye. Like a dream. You?”

She nods, her eyes still trained on him, her body nudging her to move closer, to touch, to kiss, to finally feel. It’s been almost three months since her ridiculous failure of a night before Christmas Eve. They’ve kissed more times than she can count, fallen asleep watching movies – with and without Henry in attendance – at both of their apartments, they’ve spent countless nights getting to know each other, divulging the secrets of their pasts slowly but surely. There’s been some heavy make-out sessions and she’s found that he’s learned _exactly_ how to turn her on already.

But actually venturing into sexual activities? That’s the one place they’ve taken it slow. So really, can anyone blame her for sliding across the unoccupied space in his bed and leaning over him to kiss him senseless? She doesn’t even wait for it to start shifting into something a little deeper before she’s rising up all the way, settling over his thighs as her hands wander up under the hem of the t-shirt he slept in. She feels his muscles twitch, his stomach hollowing out as she hits a particularly ticklish spot, and then resettling when her hands brush over his pecs.

Killian’s hand tangles in her hair, the strands partially wrapped around his fingers as he caresses her neck and pulls her closer. She shimmies up a little, resting right over his hardening cock and rocking experimentally to see how he’ll react. A groan emanates from deep in his chest, and he waits until she’s done it a couple times before flipping them over with ease, settling between her thighs even with his bottoms and her underwear between them. He thrusts against her, in no apparent hurry to shed any of their clothing. Instead, he steals her breath away with his movements, with his deep kisses, with his fingers ghosting along her tank top to tease her nipples into stiffening.

She barely has time to reconcile that they’re _actually_ doing this before she’s tightening her thighs around his hips, his name a silent whisper on repeat as she comes undone. Her nails scrape down his back and he stills, his eyes shut tightly and her name huffed out on a quiet breath. They both pause, both trying to regain their senses as they open their eyes to look at the other. Their matching smiles are _almost_ shy, but Killian leans down to leave a tender kiss on her lips.

He clears his throat, his eyebrows furrowing a little as he holds back a salacious grin. “Would you like some coffee this morning?”

“Isn’t that what we just had?” she inquires, arching up a little and relishing in the way he scrunches one eye closed as he encounters his own release in his pajamas.

“I’ve thought of roughly three things to reply and all of them sound dirty. Out of bed with you, love. Give me a moment to change and I’ll meet you in the kitchen?”

She nods, her nose bumping into his as she does, and she can’t resist kissing him again. _This_ is something she can get used to – all day, every day, please and thank you.

They split ways approximately three minutes and what feels like a thousand more kisses later – Emma rushes to the bathroom to tidy up a little and throw on the same plaid pj bottoms he gave to her months ago under different circumstances, and then she wanders out to the kitchen to set up his coffee maker. She’s familiar with the whole set up now, so she prepares it and hits the button to start the brew cycle at the same time Killian shows up behind her.

With time to wait until the coffee finishes percolating, he wastes no time wrapping his arms around her waist. His hand travels up to palm at her breast while his lips tease along her neck, and suddenly Emma’s thoughts have _nothing_ to do with coffee.

“You sure you don’t need a nap or something before starting up again?”

He doesn’t even pause in his ministrations, and her breath quickens as his hand starts traveling to slip beneath the waistband of her borrowed bottoms. His fingers brush along the spot where thigh meets body and she struggles to keep herself upright on her own – her knees _actually_ go weak for a moment.

“I may be older than you, Swan, but that just means I’ve had longer to hone my experience, _and_ my recovery time,” he tells her, pulling her back until they’re pressed against each other from shoulders to knees. “For the record, I had a very romantic plan for our next date night that involved a lot of candles and my best set of sheets having to be replaced before morning, if you’d been agreeable to it. You and I were very naked when I imagined the course of the evening, and it was probably incredibly old-fashioned, but _very_ worth the wait we’ve spent.”

It _does_ sound perfect, and she’s _almost_ tempted to tell him to wait, that they can hold out a little longer and have that perfect evening he’s imagined, but he chooses that moment to press their hips together a little more and she leans back into his touch.

“Next time,” she utters, reaching back to wrap her arm around his neck and maneuvering so he’s kissing her right as they are. The straps of her tank top get peeled off her shoulders, and Emma shudders with pleasure as he draws the material down over her breasts, leaving it bunched at her waist for the moment so he can touch without barriers for the first time. His left arm remains wrapped around her waist, providing leverage for the shallow thrusts he’s making against her backside. “You need to lose the pants or else we’re having a repeat of when we woke up,” she tells him plainly, abandoning her own needs for a moment as she turns and urges him to remove his shirt.

For all the ways she’s seen Killian at this point, self-conscious never really came to mind, but as soon as that shirt comes off, that’s exactly how he looks. But she has no idea why. The man is built beautifully. His biceps are firm, his chest broad and his shoulders strong. But more than all of that, he’s human. He has scars – _more_ than the obvious ones around his wrist – and other places where his skin is so baby smooth that she can’t help but stroke it peacefully for both their contentment. But now is not time for simply contentment. She leans up on her toes to kiss him again, pressing her chest against his and swallowing his noise of satisfaction.

“Fast, Killian,” she mutters between kisses, and he immediately walks them towards the counter. With her nod of approval he spins them again until she’s facing the counter. Behind her, Killian slides her top and bottoms over her hips and leaves them pooled on the floor by her feet. His hand disappears for a second, but when he comes back she can feel the hard heat of him pressing between her thighs at the same time his hand reaches forward and his fingers drag along her wetness. She doesn’t know which she wants more, to lean back and fall into his embrace or move forward and ask him for more.

He brings her almost to the brink of orgasm like that, his fingers circling her clit between dipping inside of her. He presses his cock against her center, coating himself to lubricate before he silently asks her to lean forward a little, just the right angle for him to enter her slowly on the next thrust. His hand once again moves, but his fingers just cover over her clit as he pushes her against the counter with each thrust, providing the perfect pressure to build her up all over again.

“Shit, shit, _shit_ ,” she murmurs with the time of each thrust; it takes next to no time at all before she’s _actually_ coming again, her voice loud in his quiet apartment, and she’s so glad that _she’s_ his immediate neighbor so no one else can hear her. He slips out of her, still hard, but he’s turning her so he can kiss her again, deep and passionate, like the sex he described to her earlier.

Emma pushes them away from the counter, the coffee completely forgotten even as it beeps to signify it’s ready. She’s too busy turning him towards the bedroom and pushing him along, her hands splayed on his shoulders as she finally gets to see the whole deal from behind. _Wonderful_ shoulders and arms, smooth back, _great_ ass.

“I can hear your thoughts, Swan, and thank you for admiring it. I feel like I need to start attending a gym again in order to measure up to yours, though.”

“No way. This is all…” Instead of finishing her thought, she grabs two handfuls of butt and squeezes, laughing as he makes an absolutely undignified noise and spins around. And _that_ view, well, suffice to say she has no complaints at all with his physical appearance, officially speaking. Even half hard as he is, Killian is a shape and size and length that she would consider ideal if she had preferences. But since she really doesn’t, all she takes into account is that he’s growing hard under her stare again and he’s all hers. Just as she’s all his. They haven’t really discussed their status, but one of these days she’s going to introduce him to David and Snow as her boyfriend.

Her face must change in some way because Killian’s moving forward, trailing the backs of his fingers down her arm. “What was that thought you just had, love? Let me into that mind of yours.”

“Do you have objections to me calling you my boyfriend?”

His eyes light up as he smiles, his laughter coming out breathless as he pulls her closer again. “None at all. In fact, I would very much like to call you my girlfriend. Does that meet with your approval?”

She nods, nibbling her lower lip for just a moment before she seals their titles with a kiss. Then, she makes good on her earlier direction, walking him backwards to the bed until he’s sitting on the edge with her in his lap.

-x-

There’s a goddess straddling his lap right now and Killian Jones has not a single complaint in the world. Had you asked him three months ago if he ever imagined what Emma Swan looked like in the throes of passion, he’d have politely walked away from the question and changed topics, even if he secretly had dreamt this moment once or twice.

What makes it even better is that she’s seen him fully bared and didn’t walk away – and that’s more than just a reference to his current state of nudity. He and Emma have slowly coaxed all the scars for the both of them into the light. And maybe that’s why he’s feeling so light-headed as she slides back down onto his cock. It’s either that or the fact that he’s managed to stave off a second climax for this long and there’s no longer any blood left for his brain to function.

She is so much more than goddess – she is siren and ethereal. She is otherworldly in all the best ways, and in all the other best ways she is entirely human. Her flaws are simple and understandable, her emotions guarded for the right reasons to start. Seeing the slow transition to where they are today has been one of the most fulfilling adventures of his life. And now, with her perfectly imperfect body, she is _loving_ him, though there’s not a chance in hell that he’d call it that right now. That’s still down the road a ways.

His focus narrows and broadens with each time she moves, his mind wholly focused and unfocused on the clasp of her body, the grip of her hands, the quickness of her breath as they chase closer to release. He could watch her riding him all day and never tire of it, he’s sure, and he already can’t wait for the next time when he gets to taste and explore every inch of her body at his leisure.

The thought alone has him gripping her hip a little tighter, urging her moves as he finds leverage to thrust up into her. He falls back to the bed, his feet still on the floor but from this position he can meet her movements to benefit both of them.

“Touch yourself, love. Come with me,” he gasps out, and she slides one hand to where they’re joined, hitting just above where he’s hard and aching at this point with each circular movement. As she starts to shudder in his arms, she presses down against him, her hand anchoring in his chest hair and tugging just to the point of pain but causing him to tumble over the edge with her.

If he thought coming in his pajamas earlier was messy, this is a whole different variety of one. They’re both sweaty, and he can feel his release sliding back down his shaft as he softens. He sits up, shifting so he slips out entirely. He shudders at the loss of her warmth, at the aftershocks of the orgasm, but he focuses on drawing her closer so he can kiss her.

“You’re bloody brilliant,” he utters, watching the smile light up her whole face even though she looks like she could use a few more hours of sleep after that. At her eyes fluttering closed a few times, he can’t help the comment from escaping. “Now who’s the one who needs a nap?” He gracefully accepts the pinch she gives to his side, chuckling as she leans forward and places a kiss to the side of his neck.

“Both of us, I’m betting,” she finally says. Still, she moves off his lap, steadying herself with a hand on Killian’s shoulder while the other pushes her hair back from her face.

“Swan, if you kiss me again, we’ll never leave the bed for the rest of the day.”

“Fair point. I’m going to your bathroom, and then I’m going to rummage through your kitchen and find us food.”

He nods, biting his lip and tipping his chin towards the door, resting back on his elbows as she raises her eyebrows at him and breezes out the door.

Okay, so all he desperately wants to do is collapse back onto the bed and sleep for days after two orgasms in such a short amount of time, but he figures they can nap after they’ve had some breakfast. Henry gets home from school right around three and that means the whole day stretches before them with no interruptions but their own.

From that day forward, it’s settled. They are dating, in a committed relationship, more than courting or “talking” – they are boyfriend and girlfriend, which sounds so mislabeled when they are both over 30. Henry is delighted when they share the news, specifically because now he doesn’t have to struggle to explain that Killian is their neighbor who may or may not be dating his mom. Maybe. Sort of. But not really. Now, Henry goes around telling everyone about his mom’s boyfriend, Killian, who lives down the hall from them.

And so they all fumble through it:

It’s two weeks later that Killian meets David and Snow, with Emma tugging on his arm and leading him to the farm house that Henry has already disappeared into.

“Your brother isn’t going to give me some protective dad speech, is he?”

“He better not. First off, you’re older than he is. Second, you’re the first man I’ve dated for longer than two weeks since before I moved here. And third, if he does, I’ll beat him up.”

“Somehow, I don’t doubt that, love.”

She spins on him before they get to the front porch, pushing up on her toes to kiss him, something heady and wonderful, sweet and sensual at the same time.

And so that’s how he first meets David, with Killian’s tongue just ghosting Emma’s lips and his hand just a touch too low on her hip. David clears his throat, causing Emma to spring away and turn to the door.

“Hi! Sorry, we were just…” But she can’t finish the statement, because what would she say? _We were just making out like teenagers outside while you were waiting for us to walk in?_ Not bloody likely.

“Uh huh,” is all David says with a wry grin, his arms crossed across his chest as he leans against the door frame. Then his lips slowly quirk up and he shakes his head, motioning them inside. It’s April, but there’s still a bite in the air and Killian is eager to get out of the chill. He urges her forward and takes her hand again, trailing only a little behind her in trepidation.

Anything he worried about was all for naught. David is a little chilly towards him at first, but over the course of the evening, they find quite a few topics in common and he’s in the middle of a rant about American football versus _actual_ football when he catches Emma staring at them. Snow leans over and whispers something as David is replying his own thoughts, and Emma laughs softly at whatever was said to her. He catches her eye and winks at her before turning back to the conversation.

They dive in even further when Henry asks what the big deal is. He and David both go on the attack with that one, and it takes roughly three minutes before Henry is sorry he asked, but it’s already too late – they’re going to educate him on all the intricacies if they have to.

By the end of the evening, Snow has packed up enough leftovers to last the three of them for days, somehow, and hugged him so hard he may have felt one of his organs shift. David gives him a handshake and promises to drop by the bar sometime, clapping Killian on the shoulder once as they turn to leave.

It’s like another piece falling into place. Over a decade in Storybrooke and Killian could barely string together three words to say to any one person in the whole town. Now, suddenly, he has a girlfriend, and David and Snow could be… friends. And there’s Henry, who – heavens above, let him not jinx it – if this all keeps lasting, could be his step-son.

They’re back in their building, walking down the hallway hand in hand with Henry in front of them when Killian suddenly stops at the very thought, and Emma turns to look at him, her face pinching in concern.

“You okay?”

“Of course, love. Just couldn’t remember something I put on my list for tomorrow.”

There’s a joke on the tip of her tongue about him forgetting _anything_ because she constantly says he’s worse than an elephant as far as memory goes, but instead she just kisses him. “You wanna stay at mine tonight?”

“Are you sure?”

“Killian, do you really need to ask if she’s sure ten times before you finally come inside?”

Henry is still six months away from 13 but that certainly doesn’t stop him from acting like a cheeky teenager whenever he feels like it.

“Besides,” the boy continues, “if you’re asking because of me, I’m pretty sure you don’t have to tiptoe around that anymore. You’re mom’s boyfriend. Even though you live right there, you’re still allowed to come spend the night.”

“Thanks, Henry,” Emma says flatly, an incredulous smile on her face. “What he said.”

Forward they move again, that summer, when the admissions finally happen. Honestly, Killian would’ve told her sooner – he’d known he loved her shortly after Christmas – but there was always that fear and anxiety that it would all go wrong. So he waits, and waits, and waits, all the while hoping she’ll say it first so he can know it’s okay to finally tell her. But then it happens on its own.

During the summer, they plan two mini-vacations. One is for the three of them, where Emma, Henry, and Killian all load up into Emma’s Volkswagen Bug and drive it down to Boston. If they have more time before school starts for Henry, they’ll do it again down to New York City, just a quick weekend with hit-it-and-quit-it tourism, as Emma calls it (though not in front of Henry).

The second mini-vacation, while Henry spends two solid weeks with his dad, is for only a few days of that seemingly long time. So while a majority of the time spent without their third partner in crime consists of cleaning and working, there are four beautiful days and three memorable nights that they spend at a fancy bed and breakfast just a few miles south of Storybrooke. They’ll never admit it to Granny, but they’d stay all the time if they could.

On the second night, after dinner and watching the stars appear above the horizon, they retire to their room. While Killian is in the bathroom, he can hear Emma moving about the room, and he hears her speaking in low tones to someone before the door shuts more audibly than it opened. While he washes his hand and takes his time, he still walks into the main room with a skeptical look on his face. He clears his throat while Emma faces the dresser and fusses with something. She jumps when he calls to her attention, and when she turns she has a hidden guilty smile.

“I know you didn’t want to make a big deal out of it, but…” As she shifts out of the way, there’s a small cake for two sitting there beside plates and forks. She has a lighter in her hand, just about to light the candles, it appears. “Happy birthday, babe.”

He chuckles and shakes his head, wandering over to grasp her hip and kiss her, intent on trying to figure out how to pass over his heart for safe keeping. Which is why he isn’t quite expecting the words that come out of his own mouth. “I love you, Swan.” He’d meant to say thank you, _thank you._

They both pause, and he keeps his eyes closed for a moment, praying that when he opens them it’ll all be fine, that he’ll not have royally fucked it all up. He can feel the way she’s stopped breathing for that same moment, her chest pushed against his and not moving for whole heartbeats, and it’s just as his eyes open that the breath whooshes out of her and she swoops back in, dropping the lighter in her haste to get her hands on him.

It’s clear in the way she hesitates, throws herself more into the kiss than into saying anything back, that she’s not ready. He understands, he understands so well that he pulls back for a heartbeat to tell her that she doesn’t have to say it until she’s ready, if and when she feels the same way he does. She nods, a smile cresting over her lips as she kisses him one last time. They both bask in and shake off the moment, something else to be celebrated later on when they climb the tiny steps to their massive four-poster. Emma refocuses them on the cake, struggling for a few seconds to locate the lighter.

“It’s Italian rum, no almonds. Just the way you like it,” she explains as she finally finds the lost item and turns back to it. With a little click, she starts the flames on the candles and lifts it up. “I’d sing happy birthday but you’re too old for that shit.”

At that, Killian throws back his head and laughs. “You’ll pay for that later, love. For now, let me see what I might wish for when I’ve a beautiful woman in my room.” He gives her a teasing look, letting his eyebrows lift and play for a minute before he looks back to the cake.

He thinks hard, and wishes with all his might, that this will continue, that she loves him back, that she’ll consider this an arrangement for the rest of their lives. Because he has officially entered a state where he cannot imagine living without her by his side. He wishes…. he wishes that they’ll consider moving in together in the upcoming years, and he wishes that they’ll talk of marriage and see how the other feels. And maybe, if it’s in the stars for them, Emma will also want to continue their family and consider having her implant out.

All of it he wishes for, but knows that if she only loves him back, there’s nothing else he could ask for beyond her companionship from now until forever. And that’s the thought he has in his mind when he blows out the candles.

The rest of their vacation can only be described as blissful, even as they eat breakfast with strangers and sometimes have to convince the other that they should do more than spend the whole day in bed. They do plenty of that, too, but they manage to wander the little town enough that they feel it wasn’t wasted time someplace new.

It’s not always perfect, by any means. They fight, they argue, they disagree. But they make sure to talk it out as much as possible for two people with communication problems. Henry goes through his teenage rebellion phase, but in how he acts or how he handles chores rather than smoking or stealing porno mags from the corner store. But they take all the imperfections, the sarcasm, the sometimes-unavoidable attitude by talking or laughing or making it up to each other, and that’s what really matters to all three of them.

-x-

She has to admit, when Killian told her he loves her on vacation, her heart actually stuttered in her chest. She hasn’t stopped thinking about the way he said the words that night. He says them occasionally, just to say them to her, without expecting anything in response. And at this point, it’s almost embarrassing that she hasn’t said it back. If they’ve been dancing around each other since Christmas, it’s been ten months since this all began – next week is her birthday – and it’s been four months since her boyfriend declared his love for her.

He is so patient and giving that she almost can’t believe that this whole thing is hers.

For her and Henry’s combined birthdays, they have a party out at David and Snow’s house, with friends she’s made over the years and people Killian has come to know, as well. It’s somewhere among the friendly laughter and warmth that doesn’t leave her limbs for the entirety of it that she decides she’s going to tell Killian as soon as they get a moment alone tonight.

Until then, they mingle and chat, enjoying the antics of the kids and adults alike. She rests her head on his shoulder while his arm slips around her back, his hand playing with the ends of her hair as they chat with their friends.

Despite being a brand-new teenager, Henry isn’t the least bit embarrassed to be ushered inside at the end of the night by both Emma and Killian. He’s barely awake, his eyes struggling to stay open, and Emma gently guides him away from walls and obstacles as they make their way inside. It’s only after he’s tucked away in his room, quiet snores disappearing behind the door that Emma closes, that she moves immediately to her almost equally tired boyfriend in the bedroom.

He’s already changed, his brace off and resting on the nightstand as he settles into the bed. Emma crawls across her empty side in order to kiss him, making sure she has his full attention before she smiles at him. “I love you.” The words are so easy to say after all this time that she wonders why she couldn’t say them sooner, but the look on Killian’s face is worth the wait.

“I love you, Swan.” He pulls her close again to kiss her once more before she shifts away to get ready for bed.

A month and a half later, their lives are in upheaval as they try to decorate for Christmas, but no one can seem to find anything amidst the mess. Of course, that’s what happens when you combine two households into one just before the holidays.

“I can’t find my tree,” Killian says, exasperation showing through as he lifts box after box in their basement. They have a _basement_. And three bedrooms. They already set up the big tree in the living room, decorations and all because the storage spaces were the last things they emptied and the first things that came into the house. But while Emma thought Killian’s decorations were also in his storage space, they’ve gone through everything twice and can’t seem to find them.

“Don’t worry, we’ll find it,” Emma says soothingly when he almost throws one of the boxes of Henry’s books. She reaches out and actually grabs his arm, moving close to kiss his clothed shoulder. Killian looks so crestfallen, and she takes his hand and leads him back upstairs.

It’s after he goes to work for the evening that she heads back downstairs and starts carefully sorting through the boxes still left over. Old clothes from her, books of Henry’s, kitchen items that they didn’t need doubles of… Each box is put into a pile until Emma finally unearths a box from Killian’s apartment. It’s labeled simply as “MISC” and he may have completely missed it beneath the other boxes, so she opens it to make sure.

When Killian shakes her awake when he gets home, he’s smiling softly, the expression on his face lit only by the small tree she found and set up. Henry’s star is front and center, and he looks so relieved to see it all that she can see as plain as day that he loves her son. Surely, the thought has passed through her mind before, but to see how much he cares about it – not to mention that the star is what started all of this – is something lovely.

“Thank you, love. I don’t know how you found it, but thank you.”

He kisses her gently, resting on the edge of the couch next to her, his hand in her hair and she finds his hook with her hand.

“Something I don’t think I’ve told you before, but when I woke up the morning after we met and you weren’t on my couch, I really thought that was going to be the end of it. I thought we would go back to being awkward neighbors who never spoke again.”

Emma pushes herself into a sitting position, throwing her legs over Killian’s lap as he settles fully on the couch. “But I just ran down the hall to get coffee.”

“Aye, but I didn’t know that at the time. And then you invited me over to have pizza, but I still didn’t think it was going to lead to anything further.”

“And then we barged in the next night with bags of Christmas decorations.”

“That you did, Swan. Fell in love with you a little bit more even then. You were already working on my heart only hours after our formal introductions.”

“That sounds about right,” she murmurs as she strokes along his jaw, watching his eyes flutter closed at the contact. When he opens them again, he’s staring at her with an intensity she can almost feel in her bones. “Henry named our mission, by the way. Operation Killian’s Christmas Miracle. He just couldn’t stand the thought of you down the hall by yourself with only one little star hung up on the wall.”

“You both were my Christmas miracle.”

“I’m sad now that Henry’s out of the age where he makes handmade ornaments, since _technically_ that’s what started everything.” Killian’s eyebrow jumps a little, his lips pressing together to suppress a smile of some kind. He reaches up to scratch behind his ear and that’s the final tell; he’s hiding something from her.

“Aye, I probably would’ve wanted a few more for the collection,” is all he replies. She lets it ride. He doesn’t keep anything from her, so the need for secrecy must have something to do with a Christmas gift or else he would’ve told her already.

When she gets home from work on the eve of Christmas Eve, she gets to see exactly what was going on. There are little ornaments strung throughout the whole downstairs, both with Killian and Henry’s handwriting all over them, and they’re both trying to get something hung up by the fireplace – her weed of a teenager and Killian stretching his arm so high that his shirt has come untucked to show part of his side – so intently that they don’t even hear her come in until she swings the door shut. They both whirl around, and Emma can see the small form still dangling from Killian’s hand.

The wind from the door movement and what followed her inside hits against what she previously thought were just shapes with writing on them, so they flutter back and forth and Emma’s eyes go wide. The writing, it turns out, is dates and locations – landmarks and milestones for the three of them individually and together. The other side has photos filling the shape; they are all handmade ornaments of all the major things that have happened in their lives.

There’s Henry’s birth photo, and one of Killian in the Royal Navy. There’s Emma’s induction into the Storybrooke Sheriff Department, with Henry by her side as she smiles. There’s a picture of Killian and Henry taken on Christmas last year, one she didn’t even know existed, with Killian’s hair still long and his beard fuller. She can’t believe how different he looks, but she _does_ still declare she’d have taken him either way.

Pictures of Emma and Killian, Killian and David, Emma and Snow, Emma and Henry and Killian – they’re all represented. Each holiday, each landmark. A picture from Killian’s birthday when they walked along the beach with the inscription of the date and “I love you, Swan” written below it. Another from her own birthday taken from afar of the moment she tucked into his side as they talked, her own words of love adorning the back. There’s one of the three of them when they decided as a unit that it was time to move house – it was pointless to keep walking back and forth down the hallway to spend time at each apartment when they were all together all the time now.

And the ones along the fireplace… those are the ones she sees last, the most important ones, because as she gets closer she can see Killian’s signs of anxiety heighten. Henry’s smile just grows and grows as he watches all of this take place. There are three along the mantel and one in Killian’s hand, and she doesn’t even have to see what’s written on them to know what she’s going to find. Still, she comes all the way into the living room after removing her boots, reaching for Henry first and pressing a kiss to the side of his head and marveling at the way he’s grown even more.

She moves to stand in front of Killian, taking his hand even as he drops to one knee, and she waits as patiently as she can for him to finish the question before blurting out her answer, but it’s a close thing.

-x-

On Christmas day, earlier than when he and Emma would’ve first held hands, she settles into his arms once more while they sneak in a movie before Henry leaves to spend the rest of the day with his father. It’s something he may have asked for as a growing teenager with a sensitivity to spend holidays with both sides of his family, or it could have something to do with two nights ago. Killian once thought that, on the rare occasion something bright happened in his life, it was only temporary.

But not all things are so temporary. The ring resting on Emma’s finger only proves further that sometimes, if you’re patient enough, it lasts.


End file.
